


Pride and Perfection

by soliloqui



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Broken Bones, Confessions, Gen, Genesis being a prissy diva, Genesis whump, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of blood and gore, TW:, These two babies, and talking things out with Sephiroth, injuries, wat - Freeform, why do my fics always end up with so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5857306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloqui/pseuds/soliloqui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The tips of his fingers tingled curiously with the pinprick-feeling of numb limbs when he activated his mastered, well-used Cure materia, and he recognized the signs. Dismissed them, though. War didn’t have time for fatigue and such.</p><p>War didn’t have time for many a thing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride and Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> Still not Sideways, sorry, but I got inspired by KittenFair's little [Banorashipping drabble](http://kittenfair.tumblr.com/post/138087943592/here-drink-this-youll-feel-better-for) a while ago and god knows I love me some good Genesis whump. This kinda wrote itself in my head, I just typed it down one night after studying (and then found out the next morning KittenFair already expanded on that drabble themselves, but what do you know xD this one's still pretty different, I think.) *slinks back to exam prep*

“ _Retreat! Retreat_!”

Genesis recognized the Wutaian word for what it was and allowed himself a short sigh of relief, lowering his aching arm from where it was about to hurl a fireball at a black-clad warrior and swiping a sweat-soaked piece of hair from his face.

The battles at the front were long, and bloody. Absently dismissing his three active summons and feeling the steady drain on his mana lessen slightly, the Crimson Commander sheathed his sword and bent down to the next Soldier requiring aid lying in the dirt.

The tips of his fingers tingled curiously with the pinprick-feeling of numb limbs when he activated his mastered, well-used Cure materia, and he recognized the signs. Dismissed them, though. War didn’t have time for fatigue and such.

War didn’t have time for many a thing.

Once he was sure the injured Soldier would stay on this side of the lifestream, he stood up, gingerly, and the grassy planes spun a little around him for a moment. He clenched his eyes and shook his head to dispel the dizziness. The motion wasn’t doing his headache any favors, though.

The last of the enemies had long since vanished back into the tree line, at the very back of the soft green, rolling hills. It could have been a pretty landscape, picturesque, Genesis thought, if it weren’t for the blood soaking the soil and gore and body parts littering the ground. The enemy had the advantage in the dense forests, but here, with a steep, rocky cliff face in their backs, the Shinra platoon had been able to attack from above, decimating much of the enemy force quickly in aerial attacks before they had gotten too close.

A strategical advantage, yes, but also counterproductive when you were being propelled into hard, unforgiving rock by an enemy’s summon. Genesis’ hand twitched toward his side, but he kept it from clutching at his twinging torso by sheer force of will.

It was unbecoming of a Commander to show weakness. It was unbecoming of a Commander to let his shoulders droop the way they were screaming to, aching to. Instead, he was already on his way to look around for more wounded comrades when a familiar voice called from behind him.

“Genesis? Seph wants us in his tent for a war council. Come on.”

‘Seph’ wanted them. And when the Silver General wanted you, you went.

His hand clenched at his side. “I’ll be there,” he answers; too tired to even think up an appropriately sniping remark. Genesis healed two more Soldiers that were treading the staggeringly thin line between life and death before deciding his troops would be able to take care of the other minor injuries and trekking up the path to the General’s tent.

They held their war council, the three of them, in the stuffy interior of Sephiroth’ make-shift abode. The Wutaian springs were warm, too warm, and the tent’s material didn’t allow for much ventilation; or maybe Genesis was simply feeling hot. It was getting harder and harder to breath when every intake of air felt like a bullet through his chest, but he forced himself not to let it show. No need to expose more weakness, to bare more throat in the face of the alpha wolf.

He didn’t let his relief show, either, when Sephiroth finally called their tactical discussions to a stop an indefinable amount of time later.

Eager to find himself an Ether, Genesis was out of there before Angeal, who had been throwing him Looks throughout the entirety of the meeting. He was just at the tent’s entrance, out of sight of the other two but not yet in sight from the outside due to a little awning in front of it, when his Cure slipped out from his pocket where he had hastily stuffed it earlier.

It was a bloody stupid mistake, not at all becoming of a great Commander such as him, and he went to pick it up quickly before anyone could notice. But as he stood up, before he could so much as take a twinging breath, the world went pitch-black before his eyes and his legs buckled below him.

He half expected to feel the humiliating kiss of hard packed earth against his face, but then suddenly there were arms around him and through the buzzing in his ears he thought he could hear someone calling his name.

His vision gone, he could feel the grass beneath his fingertips, but couldn’t move a limb. Disconcerting.

It felt a little like floating, only with more pain and less of the relaxing flow and ebb of water, and the silence was pressing on Genesis’ eardrums with a vengeance, only interrupted by snatches of—

_“What…”_

_“-enesis?”_

_“…through here… put him on the futon. When did…”_

When sensation returned to his fingers, it was in time to feel his gloves and trademark coat being slipped off while other hands supported his lolling head, before he was lowered on something soft. A light slapping to his face helped further rouse him, though for a staggering moment, Genesis almost wished his best friend and soulmate would let him sleep. Pathetic.

When he came to, the first thing his disoriented mind latched onto was the familiar sight of his burly, dark-haired lover, ever a smothering, yet protective rock in the stormy currents. But when he saw Sephiroth, his first instinct was to rise, to try to get out of the comfy futon he found himself on. Angeal, kneeling next to him, held him back with a firm hand to the shoulder, while Seph respectfully kept his distance.

(Internally, Genesis gave an undignified snort. Respectful. As if. Bastard probably just didn’t wanna touch him.)

“Stay down. Genesis, _what the hell_.”

And oh, didn’t the redhead bristle at the sound of a coming lecture. _‘Give it to me, Angeal, I dare you_.’

“ _Get_ off me, Angeal, or I swear-“

“You swear you what?! Shiva’s tits look at you, Genesis! You’ve been running yourself into the ground. How many hours of sleep did you even get the past couple of days?”

“Oh but like _you_ haven’t, you dratted hypocrite! Don’t tell me those aren’t rings under your eyes! How much beauty sleep did you get, then, dear princess?”

“Enough that I’m not randomly fainting after a battle!”

Well and _touché_ , but—

“I would have long since gotten myself a Potion and been fine had _you_ not insisted on a lengthy discussion about bloody honor and dreams and all that drivel half an hour ago!”

“As if a Potion could have fixed _that_ kind of fatigue. Who do you take me for, Genesis? I’ve known you long enough to recognize mana exhaustion when I see it!”

“Don’t you dare start lecturing me about magic.”

“Well if you know it so well you should know how dangerous and irresponsible this is being!”

“Then give me a goddamn Ether already!”

“You’ve taken too much already, Gen. Any more and they _will_ be deteriorative to your health. You know that the side effects of…”

Recognizing the start of a lengthy rant when he heard it, Genesis turned his head to the side. All the yelling, and the prone position, were making it even more difficult for him to breathe and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He needed to get up.

As soon as he tried to rise again, however, Angeal pressed down on his tender rib cage and Genesis couldn’t quite keep in the cry of pain.

So much for that.

Naturally, it took his friend less than two seconds to rid Genesis of his Shinra belt and slip his shirt up to expose the mottled skin of his torso, where purple and green bruises where spreading all across the front and down one side.

A deep intake of air, and then…

“…you have _gaia-damned_ broken ribs, Genesis what the hell—“

“They’re just cracked, I don’t get why you’re—“

“I just felt this one _move_ under my hand Genesis, this isn’t ‘cracked’!”

“They’ll be healed in half an hour, stop throwing such a damn—“

“Not if you’re mana exhausted; your body doesn’t have any left to repair itself. Odin’s beard, why do you keep doing this, Genesis?”

Genesis went to retaliate, but at just that moment a voice interrupted from the front of the tent. A fellow Soldier, from the sound of it; Genesis was glad the man stayed in the front part of the enclosure, where a screen was blocking immediate view of the back parts of Sephiroth’ quarters. With a shudder, Genesis was reminded this was _Sephiroth_ ’ bed he was lying in.

“Commander Hewley? Your presence is requested; a small group of unarmed Wutaians have approached the camp, they demand to negotiate.”

Sephiroth stood up and went to walk around the screen to take care of it, but the Soldier objected.

“Apologies, General. But they requested Commander Hewley in particular. They refuse to talk to anyone else.”

Angeal sighed before standing up to leave, looking a little torn (rightfully so, if Genesis might add) in leaving the other two Firsts alone together in a room, but giving a firm order towards Genesis to “Rest, goddamnit!” and “This isn’t over yet” and another order towards Sephiroth to take care of the redhead.

Then he was gone.

The two regarded each other silently for a moment, then Genesis tugged his shirt back down almost self-consciously and with a huff addressed the other man. “My Cure is likely still lying outside the entrance.”

Not quite a plea to go get it for him, but he thought the outstretched hand was hint enough.

Sephiroth blinked, once, twice, then shook his head and said, “I’ve got my own.”

He reached into a pocket on the interior of his black coat and pulled out a shining materia orb, approaching. Completely forgoing the offered hand, Sephiroth kneeled down next to the futon and immediately went in for the kill.

“Leave it!” Genesis hissed between clenched teeth when that long, pale hand went to touch his bruised stomach and restraining it. “Just give me the damn materia already.”

He could see the General bristle – just the slightest twitch of his eyebrow, really – and it felt like a small victory.

“These bones need to be mended, Genesis; regardless of whether they are cracked or broken. You are in no fit state to see to it yourself.”

“Then give me a Potion, or an Ether.”

A slight tilt of the head, and silvery strands of hair hung artfully into those green eyes. Genesis despised how they didn’t even look frazzled after such a long battle, painfully aware of the mess his own hair presented. “Angeal was right, those will not be any help to you at this point in time.”

When it became clear Genesis was not about to budge on the matter, Sephiroth’ hand twitched below his own – “I don’t understand why you’d—“ and, fearing another attempt at healing, Genesis batted it away with half a snarl.

Sephiroth sighed quietly, then turned away at a right angle and sat on the ground, leaning against the mattress, back ramrod straight.

By the Goddess, Genesis' ribs ached. His head ached, his eyelids, everything. He’d just go to sleep, if it weren’t for the silverette keeping silent, pouting vigil next to him. He wanted to be angry, felt hurt at Angeal for talking down to him in front of the man he admir- despised… And having a lover's spat with his soulmate when he already wasn't at his best hurt more besides, even if he knew Angeal only had his best interests at heart. He was just so, so _tired_ of this bloody war. If only-

“I will not heal you against your will.” The voice was so quiet it took him a moment to realize Sephiroth had spoken at all. “Although I feel the need to admit, I do rarely comprehend the reasons behind your actions, Genesis. I do not recall doing you any harm, so why do you show such frequent hostility towards me?”

Maybe it was the pounding behind his temples, or the weariness losing his tongue, or just something in the goddamn Wutai _air_ , but somehow, Genesis found himself countering, “Why do you always have to be so damn perfect?”

He saw the slightest tilt of Sephiroth’ pretty head, cascading waterfall of silver hair rustling slightly with the movement, and he knew he had the man’s attention.

“Perfect Sephiroth. Perfect warrior, perfect idol, perfect leader." The words spewing from his lips tasted bitter. "The beloved Silver General, adored by the masses. What did you ever do to earn it, huh? You were given all that fame, simply because you existed; were born for it. Us others, yes, we need to grovel in the dirt before you, working off our asses to even get to half the level you are at. And you wonder why I hate you.”

Silence reigned for a few long seconds, Genesis guessing at whether or not he was about to be strangled in bed.

“Is… that why you keep straining yourself past your limit, healing Soldiers on the field?” he finally asked, tone of voice indecipherable. “To… be famous?”

While that is certainly a small part of it, “Nah… I’m just tired of losing more men to this god-forsaken war.”

“So am I.”

Now that he listened closely, there was something weary to that tone.

“Don’t tell me the great General Sephiroth is _tired_. It’s not as though _you_ ever need a break.”

Sephiroth took a large breath, then released it in a long exhale, and when he was done, Genesis could’ve sworn those proud shoulders drooped a little.

“I am… not perfect, Genesis. Far from it.” Before Genesis had the chance to snort, the General continued. “I am still, to be frank, not quite sure as to where you received that notion. Yes, I am loved by the masses, as Shinra’s PR department has made me be; but what good is fame if you do not want it? What good is your men’s respect, if you feel you haven’t earned it, like you and Angeal have? All I want is to- …I do not even know. Live my own life. Be allowed to make decisions. To have choices. I… I envy you, and Angeal.”

The urge to snort got stronger, but somehow Genesis held it back. This was… well, certainly new. And unexpected. His brain would need time to process that confession, preferably when it didn’t feel like his lung was being pierced by a thousand needles.

Noticing his move of discomfort, Sephiroth slightly turned his head in his direction. “Will you let me heal you?”

After a brief consideration, he nodded and removed the hand from above his rib cage. Sephiroth’ touch on him was feather-light as the pleasant warmth of the Cure washed through him, and when he could take a deep breath free of pain again, Genesis had to wonder for a moment why he had ever hesitated.

He was still dehydrated, and dizzy and hungry, but the blanket felt so soft beneath him that Genesis just wanted to burrow further into the cushions and sleep for a week. He was roused by a question.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Genesis opened his eyes again (when ever had they closed?) and squinted into the light. “…no.”

Sephiroth sighed, then stared him in the eyes and said, “You seem sensitive to light and noise, your pupils are dilated and you keep squinting as though you are experiencing head pain. Your speech is slightly slurred, and your earlier movements indicated dizziness. You are suffering from trauma to the head.”

…his jaw closed with a click. “If you already knew, why the hell did you ask?”

Rather than meeting his gaze, Sephiroth looked away. “I had been wanting to see if you would be honest with me.”

Oh.

“…will you let me heal it?”

Genesis sighed, then leaned his head to the side, away from Sephiroth, exposing the bump on his head that apparently still hadn’t healed and _damn_ his Mako. Sephiroth’ touch was gentle when he felt for the spot, and before he knew it, a Cure spell once more soothed the pain away. In the absence of it, Genesis could admit it felt glorious.

He didn’t know when his eyes had slipped closed again, but he vaguely felt his head being cradled and guided back down on the pillow before that hand slipped into is hair, pushing it away from his blazing forehead. The coolness felt heavenly against his skin.

“You are running a fever due to the mana exhaustion. It is important you stay hydrated.” A metal flask was pressed against Genesis lips and he took a few sips, but soon he felt exhaustion finally catching up to him. “Sleep.”

“…what ‘bout y’?” he mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

Genesis huffed one last time before turning away and moving over onto his side, nudging towards the far side of the futon. He patted the space next to him. “’m stealing y’r bed. Geddown.”

It took him a long moment, almost enough for Genesis to fall asleep, but then there was the sound of pauldrons and a jacket being shed and the mattress dipped behind him.

The futon was narrow, meant for one person only, and it was obvious Sephiroth was having some trouble lying comfortably. Genesis reached behind him, blindly groping for the nearest arm, and pulled it around him; the closest thing to a blanket he was going to get while they were both lying on the comforter.

“Go to sleep.”

It was weird, and unfamiliar, and the light breath tickling his neck was not the one he was used to, but this could work for now. They slept.

Later, when Angeal came back to relay the news of successful negotiations and to check up on his friends, as well as apologize for his temper, he would find the two men spooning closely together, sharing warmth and rest. And rather than feeling jealousy over seeing his lover ensconced in the arms of another, he would cover his two friends with a spare blanket motherly, and smile that quiet little Hewley-smile of his.


End file.
